


Rimouski

by Deastar



Series: They Say Love Heals All Wounds [17]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, Established Relationship, M/M, Roleplay, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 07:42:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12954534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deastar/pseuds/Deastar
Summary: Since tonight was Sid’s idea, he’d tried to get the details right as much as he could. He’d dug his own old Rimouski Oceanic hoodie out of a box in the back of his closet, and ordered a new one for Geno online. He’d even contemplated buying some Axe body spray to truly recreate the teenage experience, but he’d decided that was probably taking accuracy too far.





	Rimouski

**Author's Note:**

> It's been forever since I posted a soulbond sequel! I had kind of a hangover from finishing my other monster Sid/Geno fic, but hopefully it's gone now.
> 
> This fic takes place *before* the "Alyosha" soulbond short, fyi.
> 
> Thank you to laulan for multiple rounds of insightful beta-reading!

Sid stands behind Geno as he slides the key card in the hotel room door, and follows him inside. The chain hotel is clean but unfancy – just the kind of place a major juniors team might put up its players for a tournament. Since tonight was Sid’s idea, he’d tried to get the details right as much as he could. He’d dug his own old Rimouski Oceanic hoodie out of a box in the back of his closet, and ordered a new one for Geno online. He’d even contemplated buying some Axe body spray to truly recreate the teenage experience, but he’d decided that was probably taking accuracy too far.

Geno slings his hockey bag down off his shoulder and flops down on one of the two double beds. Sid follows suit, and walks more carefully over to the other bed, sitting down on the edge and placing the flat of his palm over the top of his thigh. At training camp this morning, he’d gone down at a funny angle, and his quad has been bothering him ever since – not enough to scrap their plans, but enough to make him cautious. He hopes, nervously, that it’s not some kind of bad omen.

When Geno notices Sid favoring the injury, he sits up on his own bed and frowns at Sid’s leg.

“You say it’s not bad, Sid.”

Sid protests, “It’s not! It’s just a little strained.”

Geno knows that, of course—if it were a serious injury, the bond would have transferred it, and he’d be feeling it, too—but they’re different people tonight. Still Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin. Still hockey players, still teammates. But not the same Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin.

“You always say,” Geno replies, openly giving him a skeptical look, “but I don’t believe anymore. If it hurt more, I call Coach.”

“Don’t do that,” Sid says wearily. You’d think—Sid _had_ thought, when he’d made the decision to leave Shattuck—that any major juniors coach would be thrilled to have a world-class player on his team, someone who could take his team to another level. You’d think _that_ —winning, and how Sid could get them there—would be what the coach would care about.

But as much as Coach appreciates his level of play, Sid can tell he’s starting to get annoyed with how Sid doesn’t fit in in the room and off the ice, and with how frequently Sid gets injured, even in minor ways. Neither of those are Sid’s fault—a few of the other players resent him for showing them up, and Sid’s injuries are caused by the other team’s goons tripping and cross-checking and slashing him—and Coach knows that. But he still can’t help seeing a problem when he looks at Sid.

Geno is quiet for a minute, just watching Sid and worrying at the drawstring of his Rimouski hoodie. He’s the only one who doesn’t look at Sid like he’s a threat at worst or a space alien at best. He doesn’t have to resent Sid because his own hockey is fucking amazing, of course. But it’s also just because he’s… Geno. He’s almost obnoxiously sure of himself, but never seems to feel the need to put other people down; he’s a big jokester, always making fun of everyone, including Sid, but his jokes never cross the line into cruelty. By some special Geno magic, he manages to be popular and fit in without having to compromise a part of himself to do it, and his popularity never seems to be dented by having a weirdo like Sid for a friend.

Sid’s unbelievably lucky to have Geno on his team, and even luckier to have him as his road roommate. He can’t ruin that with whatever is making his stomach twist as he watches Geno’s fingers play with the drawstring, so he looks away and tries very hard not to think about anything at all.

Finally, Geno says, “I don’t tell Coach. But if it hurt more, you tell me, okay?”

“I will,” Sid promises, not intending to do any such thing. He can tell from the way Geno is frowning at him that he caught some of that with his reading, and hurriedly changes the subject. “Are you going to call home tonight?”

“No, I Skype Mama yesterday,” Geno replies. Skype wasn’t really a thing back when Sid was in juniors, but he doesn’t bother trying to correct Geno—they’ve kind of settled into a groove, and he doesn’t want to break it. “You want to watch movie, maybe?”

“I think I’m just going to read,” Sid says. “But you can turn on a movie if you want – it won’t bother me.”

Geno sighs and makes a face. “No, should read, too. Is not fair I have to learn _two_ language; English at least I already know some, but French I have to start from nothing, like baby.”

“I’m sure you’re doing great,” Sid protests. He tries not to think, guiltily, about his own poor command of French.

Geno makes a noise of disgust, and asks, “You also read for school? Or for fun?”

“Oh, for fun. It’s just… one of my history books, you know.”

Geno perks up. “Is Russian history?”

“No,” Sid says, then backtracks. “Actually, some parts of it take place in Russia, and there are some Russians in it.”

“Then is best,” Geno pronounces. “We read, be very boring teenagers.”

“Yeah,” Sid says. He smiles—he’s pretty sure they’re _not_ just going to read tonight, but even if they do, this has turned out to be weirdly fun, and weirdly comforting. He gets up off the bed to retrieve his book, and has to sit down again, gasping.

Geno rushes to the side of the bed, looking frustrated. “Is thigh again? Sid, I tell you—”

“I know, I know,” Sid says. He rubs his hand uselessly up and down the front of his strained thigh. “Please don’t call Coach, I swear it’ll be better in the morning—” It _will_ be better in the morning, because the bond will make short work of it overnight, but he can’t say that – tonight, neither of them are bonded.

Geno huffs and starts bullying Sid up the bed until he’s propped up against the headboard with his left leg stretched out in front of him. Then Geno grabs one of the pillows from his own bed and carefully slides it under Sid’s thigh – his hands are so gentle that it makes Sid’s breath catch. Sid’s in his usual early-winter outfit of cargo shorts with his own Rimouski hoodie over a t-shirt, but with Geno so close, looking at him so carefully, he feels almost naked.

“You not let me call Coach,” Geno says, giving Sid a measuring look. “And I think you not let me call trainer, because trainer tell Coach.”

“It really will be better in the morning,” Sid tries again.

Geno shakes his head. “Make deal with you, Sid – if you not let me call trainer, then you have to let me take care. If you don’t want me take care, okay, but then I have to call trainer. Don’t like to see you hurt, Sid,” Geno finishes, in a soft voice guaranteed to make Sid feel horribly guilty.

“I’ll let you take care of me,” Sid promises – anything to make that sadness in Geno’s voice go away.

He regrets it a minute later when Geno says, “Okay – tell me if I make worse, okay?” and puts his hands on Sid’s thigh. Sid can feel their warmth through the fabric of his shorts, and he bites down a gasp, not wanting to draw attention to himself – he doesn’t trust the expression on his own face.

Geno starts rubbing gently, just getting the blood flowing a little, and it’s absolutely _not_ inappropriate – his hands stay over Sid’s shorts, and his movements are purposeful, just like the way a trainer would massage Sid’s strained muscle. But he’s not a trainer: he’s Geno, who smiles at Sid and plays beautiful hockey and actually seems to think Sid is funny and fun to be around instead of a total fucking freak, like other guys their age do. He’s Geno, who doesn’t know Sid’s gay, and who’d probably hate Sid if he found out now, after a whole season of rooming together and Sid not telling him, _lying_ to him, really.

Geno’s keeping up a quiet patter of talk, just complaining about how English makes no sense again—one of his favorite topics—and his hands are massaging Sid’s thigh with more force now. It’s working—Sid’s thigh feels much looser, and the twinge he’d felt earlier is gone—but Sid is horrified to notice that he’s starting to get hard. He tries to think about something, anything else, tries to go somewhere else in his mind… but Geno smells so good, and he’s so close, and he’s _touching_ Sid. He’s touching Sid because he wants to take care of Sid, because he likes Sid, because he’s such a good friend, and Sid’s betraying him by getting off on his kindness. And even Sid’s fear and self-loathing still aren’t strong enough to stop his cock from filling, tenting out the front of his shorts, and _of course_ Geno sees it, he’s got his hands just a few inches away. He goes silent, and his hands stop dead on Sid’s thigh. Sid makes a wounded noise and curls up on his side on the bed, facing away from Geno, wishing for this whole night just to go away – for Geno to get up and walk away and pretend that none of this ever happened.

But of course, Geno doesn’t do that. Of course he’s nice about it – or maybe he just doesn’t understand what happened. He sets a hand on Sid’s shoulder and says hesitantly, “Sid? Okay?”

“I’m sorry, Geno,” Sid forces out, past the ball of shame in his throat. His eyes feel hot, and he has to blink to keep from crying, because that’s the last fucking thing he needs.

“Sorry for what?” For a moment, Sid thinks that maybe Geno really didn’t notice... but he knows Geno saw. He watched as Geno stopped talking, stopped touching him.

“For…" Geno trails off, then says firmly, "Sid, is okay. Is normal thing, have touch, get—is just…” He sighs and squeezes Sid’s shoulder. “Come on, Sid, don’t hide. Not have to be sorry – not have to be embarrass. Is just normal thing, when body feel good. Come on, Sid. Not have to be big deal.”

Slowly, unwillingly, Sid pushes himself up to a sitting position. He pulls his knees up in front of him and puts a pillow into his lap for good measure. Then he shoots a glance at Geno, just out of the corner of his eyes, too ashamed to look him in the face.

“Everyone feel same, I touch them,” Geno jokes, eyes gentle. “Is because I’m very good looks, of course – is only natural.”

Sid appreciates the effort Geno is making to put him at ease, but it doesn’t make him feel any less like crawling into a hole in the ground and never coming back out. “I’m sorry,” he says in a small voice, looking down. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable.” Geno shifts closer and puts his arm around Sid’s shoulders – it should feel like he’s proving a point, but it doesn’t.

Sid whispers, “You shouldn’t touch me.” He’s shaking, and he’s not sure whether it’s more from shame, or from fear.

“Why not?”

“It just… makes it worse,” Sid confesses, face flaming. And it’s true: the strength of Geno’s arm around him, the smell of his soap, and the warmth of his body against Sid’s side are not doing anything to make his stupid boner go away.

There’s a pause that feels like surprise from Geno, and then Geno asks, “This…” He waves his free hand at the two of them, side by side. “…this make you—you like so much?” He _does_ sound surprised, but at least he doesn’t sound disgusted, and that gives Sid the courage to tell the truth.

“Yes,” he says, very softly. He must seem pathetic to Geno—Geno, who’s had girlfriends, who’s probably had lots of sex—for being so affected by just a friendly touch.

There’s a longer pause, and then Geno asks, hesitantly, “Sid, you like… _me_? Not just anyone touch, but is because _I_ touch you like?”

Sid knew this was coming – it had to, sometime. He could lie, he probably _should_ lie, but… what would he say? _No, you’re not special to me – you’re just a warm body, you could be anyone—_

No. There’s no version of Sid that could say that to any version of Geno. That’s the one lie that, even in the midst of Sid’s fear—and he _is_ afraid, his breath coming faster now, his chest feeling tight—he can’t bring himself to tell. And Geno’s still here, he’s still touching Sid, and he hasn’t hit Sid… so maybe it will be okay. Geno definitely won’t want to be his road roommate anymore, or touch him anymore, but maybe they can still be friends. “I… yes,” Sid says, miserable but resigned. “I’m sorry, Geno. I tried not to. I really did. I can’t help it. You’ve always been so nice to me,” Sid continues, more softly, staring at his knees, “and you always stand up for me on the ice when the other teams go after me, and you don’t make fun of me the way the others do sometimes. I’m really sorry – I mean it, Geno, I’m so fucking sorry, I never meant to—”

“Sid,” Geno says firmly, cutting him off. “Not have to be sorry.”

“I _do_ , though,” Sid insists, distressed. “You were so nice to me, and all this time I was thinking of you like—like you wouldn’t want me to, and—”

Geno’s left hand cups Sid’s face, turning it toward him, and then his lips are touching Sid’s, just for the space of a breath. Then Geno pulls back enough to look Sid in the eyes. “Not have to be sorry,” he repeats, softly. The skin around his eyes crinkles up a little in a smile.

Sid can hardly think. His lips are still so close to Geno’s, and Geno _kissed_ him. _Kissed_ him!

“I try also not to feel,” Geno says carefully – his fingertips on Sid’s cheek are trembling. “But from when I first come to team, I see you special. Not just on ice; your hockey I like very much, but also special for many other reason—not make fun of my English, always help me with school, stay after to practice. I like you, Sid. Like you very much.”

Sid’s still having trouble thinking about anything except the fact that Geno kissed him. Blankly, he says, “I didn’t know.”

“Don’t want you to know,” Geno admits, pulling in on himself a little, dropping his hands into his lap. “Don’t think you like me back – I know you _like_ me, like friend, but you like other guys on team like friend also. I don’t—didn’t—know I’m special for you. Like you special for me.”

“You _are_ special to me,” Sid says fiercely, echoing his earlier thoughts; the smile Geno gives him in response is breathtaking. He’s so handsome—maybe not to other people, but to Sid, always—and Sid can’t resist bringing a hand up to touch his cheek, as if to prove that this is real, that Geno is really there in the flesh, and not just some fantasy that Sid dreamed up. “Can I… kiss you?” he asks, then immediately feels stupid.

Geno does laugh, but it’s not a mean laugh, and he nods right away, so Sid screws up his courage and kisses Geno like it’s the first time—because for this Sid and Geno, it _is_. It doesn’t physically feel like a first kiss—it can’t, when he and Geno know each other’s bodies so well, and Sid isn’t willing to suck at kissing just for verisimilitude—but in a weird way, it does feel kind of new. This is what it would be like, Sid thinks, letting his eyes fall shut, if he could kiss Geno without the weight of their history and the bond crisis and the pressure and Sid’s years of bitter loneliness between them. It’s good. It’s so good.

When Sid pulls back, breaking the kiss, Geno’s eyes have gone dark and his hand on Sid’s shoulder has turned possessive. “Want you, Sid,” he says, raspy. “But don’t want to put on you pressure, make you do things if you not ready or not want.”

“I want you, too,” says Sid, heart beating faster. “I don’t know if I’m ready for… for _everything_ , but I… I want to touch you. I want to make you feel good.” He swallows, and makes himself ask, “Have you had—like, a lot of sex?”

Geno chuckles. “Don’t know if it’s a lot, but some, yes. Some with boys, some with girls. You, Sid?”

Sid opens his mouth to tell the truth—that, at this age, he’d already learned some messed-up lessons about sex from boys who were either pretty indifferent to him, or actively cruel—then shuts it again. That’s not what he _wants_ to say. This is a fantasy – he doesn’t have to tell the real truth. In the fantasy, he can make up whatever truth he wants. And what he wants is to say, “No.” He swallows hard. “Nobody. You’re—you’re the first.”

He’s not prepared for the way his eyes burn and his throat tightens when he says those words – for the way his gut twists, because _god_ , he wishes that were true. He wishes he’d come to Geno fresh and unscarred, wishes he’d learned sex with affection before sex with shame. Not even so much for Geno’s sake—although he does wish he could have offered Geno something simpler and brighter than what their sex life has really been—but for his own. For a long time, he’d been resigned to those early sexual experiences, grateful, even, to have at least some experience to remember before he shut himself off from sex altogether. But he feels differently about it now, now that he has something good, something healthy, to compare it to. Now he wishes passionately that they had never fucking happened – now, he can be angry, and sad for the kid he’d been and the shitty lessons he’d been taught.

“First,” Geno echoes – he doesn’t call Sid on the falsehood, or react to the tangle of emotions he must have felt through the bond. Instead, he looks awed and a little nervous – staying in character, and Sid is so fucking grateful. “Is a little scary, Sid,” he confesses. “Big responsibility. But I take care of you,” he promises, brushing a kiss across Sid’s lips. “I make good for you.”

“I know you will,” Sid whispers. He kisses Geno, hesitant and gentle, and lets his eyes drift shut. Teenage Sid wouldn’t know how true it was—how good Geno would be to him, how well he’d take care—but older Sid knows it very well. He feels safe with Geno in a way that he almost never feels safe with another person. It’s that level of trust that allowed him to ask Geno for this, and to accept it when Geno agreed.

After the kiss, Geno smiles at Sid, eyes soft. He asks, “What you want to do – what you ready for, Sid?”

Sid thinks about it, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “I… hands?” he suggests, then flushes. “I mean, not—not _inside_ , I just mean—”

Geno cuts him off with a reassuring kiss, his fingertips light and warm on the point of Sid’s chin. “I know what you mean – mean touch, mean… jerk off, yes?” He makes the gesture and then looks expectantly at Sid.

“Yeah,” Sid says, shyly. “Do you want me to?”

Carefully, Geno picks up Sid’s hands and, cradling them in his own, bends to kiss Sid’s knuckles. “Yes,” he breathes, and Sid shivers as the warm air ghosts through his fingers. “I want. I like your hands, Sid. I think about, you know – a lot.”

“Oh.” Sid can feel himself turning pink. “Oh. Good.”

Geno shows no sign of letting go of Sid’s hands anytime soon – he’s stroking his thumbs over the veins on the back of Sid’s hands and brushing little kisses under Sid’s jaw. It feels nicer than he could have imagined, and as a bonus, it saves him from having to figure out where to put his hands. Sid thinks he’d probably be okay with Geno just holding his hands and kissing him for a while longer, but they were in the middle of discussing other plans, so he asks, “Do you want… now?”

“Is your choice, Sid,” Geno says, pulling back a little to watch Sid’s face. He squeezes Sid’s hands gently. “You want now, we do hands now – you want wait, more kisses first, we have more kisses. Okay?”

Sid is tempted to push ahead, afraid to disappoint Geno or seem immature… but Geno looks so sincere, and Sid decides to believe that Geno really means what he says: that it’s up to Sid, and Geno will be happy either way. “I think… more kisses first,” he decides.

Geno nods. “More kisses,” he agrees, solemn.

As they make out, keeping their hands carefully above the waist, Sid gradually pulls Geno down until they’re lying side-by-side. Usually, Geno loves to have Sid on top of him, wants to feel Sid’s weight pressing him down – but tonight, Geno curves himself over Sid’s body protectively. It feels really, really nice.

_Is your choice_ , Geno had said, so Sid is the one who moves things forward, sliding his hand down Geno’s chest and pausing with his fingertips just above the waistband of Geno’s shorts.

“Can I…?”

“You can,” Geno promises, eyes soft with fondness. “You can touch me anywhere, Sid – any way. Any touch from Sid, I like.”

“What if I’m bad?” Sid blurts out, before his face turns red. “Sorry, oh my god—” He’d been too exhausted to be nervous, the real first time he and Geno had sex – he’s kind of bemused to realize how much insecurity has apparently been simmering under the surface, waiting to bubble up.

Geno shakes his head and says, holding Sid’s gaze, “Can’t be bad, Sid. You touch me, is good. Because I want most. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sid whispers. He has to believe it – the way Geno is looking at him won’t allow any less. “Okay.”

He unbuttons and unzips Geno’s shorts. When he has Geno’s cock in his hands, he looks up at Geno for guidance, but Geno just smiles.

He repeats, “Any touch from Sid, I like. Is not big deal – can just… play, try out. Like try out new stick, you know?” he adds, with a mischievous grin that promises many “stick” puns to come. Sid laughs in spite of himself. He lets Geno switch their positions – Geno laid out on the bed now, for Sid to touch and learn, with Sid above him.

He decides to take Geno’s words to heart and just play, although it’s a little hard to focus when Geno is bent on distracting him with kisses, hungry enough to make Sid moan. He takes the opportunity to relearn Geno’s cock by touch—the delicate lip of the foreskin, the prominent veins tracing over the shaft—as if it’s all new territory for him. And when those light strokes are finally too much of a tease, when Geno’s breath turns into sobs even as he’s reassuring Sid that it’s “good, all is good, anything good,” Sid touches Geno the way he knows Geno needs to be touched. Because it’s fun, and something deeper than fun, to pretend that their bodies are strangers, but he would never trade that innocence for the truth – for all the secrets of Geno’s body that Sid knows by heart. And Geno comes, spilling onto his stomach and calling Sid’s name.

“So good, Sid,” Geno whispers, after, brushing his fingers reverently over Sid’s face. “I like so much.”

Sid tries to imagine what it would have been like if, the first time he’d made another person come, they had looked at him with awe and touched him gently, instead of clapping him on the shoulder and turning away without meeting his eyes. He wonders if it would have changed anything in the long run, or if he’d still have ended up thinking of sex with other people as something that he could afford to put on the shelf until its edges became fuzzy with dust. It may be stupid and sentimental, but Sid can’t help thinking that if he’d had a Geno, back then, it would have been almost impossible to give that up. God knows, he can’t imagine giving Geno up now. Not anymore.

“Sid?” Geno’s brow is furrowed a little as he looks up at Sid.

“Sorry.” Sid leans down to drop a kiss over that crease between Geno’s brows. “I was just thinking. About how nice it was. With you.”

Geno smiles widely. “You don’t know how nice yet,” he says, pulling Sid close for a kiss. “I promise you I take care of you, make good for you. You let me, Sid? You let me make you feel good?”

“Yes,” Sid says, holding Geno’s gaze. His dick throbs at the promise in Geno’s eyes. “I’d… I’d really like that. Please.”

Carefully, Geno urges Sid down onto the bed on his side and then curls up behind him, his knees tucked into the bend of Sid’s knees, one arm under Sid’s head like a pillow, the other wrapped protectively around Sid’s body. He hides a kiss behind Sid’s ear, then slowly reaches down to brush his fingers over Sid’s fly. “Okay, Sid?”

“Yes.” Sid brings his own hand down to stroke over Geno’s, to tangle their fingers together. It makes it a little more difficult for Geno to get his zipper down, but Geno never tries to shake Sid’s hand loose, and Sid likes having them tangled up like this. When Geno pushes Sid’s waistband down, Sid shimmies to help him, then groans when Geno takes hold of his cock. Geno groans, too, like just getting to touch Sid’s dick is some big thrill, which Sid can’t imagine but… it’s still really hot.

“How you like, Sid?” Geno asks, as he starts up a slow, steady rhythm. “You like fast, slow? How tight you like? You need more wet?” Geno’s hand is already slick, and Sid’s hips buck suddenly without his permission when he realizes Geno must be using his own come to make it wet.

“I like slow at first, then faster,” Sid says, breathing becoming ragged as warm, urgent pleasure pools at the base of his spine. “But mostly I like _you_ , Geno. It’s better because it’s you.”

Geno breathes, “ _Sid_ ,” and he leans over to catch Sid’s mouth in a kiss. He’s still curled around and over Sid, his body language practically shouting: _this person is precious to me. I care about him_. Sid’s never felt so safe, so sure. He can close his eyes and let go of everything – all those insecurities, all those doubts, every hesitation. No thinking, just feeling – feeling the warm strength of Geno at his back and the melting pleasure of Geno’s hand on his cock, just perfectly tight, just perfectly slow, and then finally faster, just like Sid told him, until Sid moans and tumbles over the edge, secure in the knowledge that Geno will still hold him when it’s over.

Sid is in no hurry to come back to himself – he’d be happy to just float on the endorphins and the sound of Geno whispering to him in awed-sounding Russian forever. But then Geno is kissing him, and that kind of requires Sid’s participation, so he shakes off the fuzziness in his head and curls his tongue around Geno’s until Geno hums with satisfaction.

When Geno pulls back, he smiles at Sid, his cheeks red and eyes soft. “Hi, Sid.”

Sid’s answering smile feels pretty goofy, but he doesn’t care. “Hi, Geno.” He was raised never to fish for compliments, but he’s gradually realized over the course of their relationship that Geno actually _likes_ saying nice things about Sid, so he has no compunctions about asking, “Was it good? Did it—you liked it?”

Geno’s smile gets softer, and he leans in for a chaste kiss. “So good,” he promises. “I like most. Just like I tell you. Was good for you, Sid? I take care of you good – was good first?”

_First_. God. Sid’s eyes burn again. His voice comes out scratchy when he tells Geno, “It was… it was perfect, G. It was the perfect first time. I wish—fuck.” Sid has to blink quickly to keep his eyes dry. He whispers, “I wish it really was. I wish that so much.”

“This is real,” Geno says, quiet but urgent, surprising Sid. “You want this is first time? It’s first. You decide what you count. Boys who treat you like shit, they don’t count. You don’t carry them if you don’t want. Forget them, Sid. They don’t deserve you remember.”

Sid hadn’t thought about it that way, and it takes him a few minutes to really absorb it; Geno waits for him, his breath warm and steady against the back of Sid’s neck. Once Sid’s had a chance to turn the idea over in his mind, though, he decides Geno’s right. Sid can’t actually forget his past – it’s a part of him, for better or for worse, and it shaped the person he is today. But he can choose how he remembers it. He can choose how much weight it will bear. And just knowing that makes him feel lighter.

He turns in Geno’s arms until he can look Geno full in the face, holding his gaze. “Thanks, G,” he says softly. “For saying that, and… for doing this. It really—”

But Geno interrupts him, looking nervous. “You—pretend is over now?”

Sid blinks. “I… I sort of thought it was, yeah. But do you… want to keep going?”

“Yes,” Geno says. His voice is soft but determined. “Something more I want to do. If it’s okay for you to keep going I want to keep going. Just a little bit more.”

Sid is surprised – and touched. When he’d gotten the idea for tonight, and he’d run it by Geno, he’d thought it would be something Geno would do _for_ Sid, something that would help Sid and hopefully be fun for Geno, too, but still be… a favor, he guesses. It hadn’t occurred to him that Geno might get something from it, too, for himself. But whatever it is that Geno needs, Sid wants him to have it. “Yeah, okay,” he answers, smiling at Geno. “Let’s, um… let’s keep going, then.”

“Good,” Geno replies, with a kiss. The smile he gives Sid is hesitant. “I get towel, clean us up, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, G,” Sid says. As Geno heads into the bathroom, Sid tries to figure out what it is that Geno is still looking for – it’s pointless to guess, since really it could be anything, but Sid can’t help being curious.

When Geno comes back with a warm, damp washcloth, he takes his time cleaning the jizz off of Sid’s stomach and Sid’s hand. “I promise I take care of you,” he reminds Sid quietly.

“You took such good care of me,” Sid assures him, holding Geno’s gaze. “You did.”

“Good.” Now Geno looks nervous again, and he’s fiddling with the washcloth. “If you… if you want, if you let me, I think maybe… maybe I take care of you again. I don’t know if you want, maybe for you it’s just one time—”

“ _No_ ,” Sid says vehemently. “It’s not just one time, not unless _you_ want that. I said you were special to me, Geno, and I… I meant it. I don’t want just one time.”

“Then… we be… boyfriends?” Geno asks – he’s looking at Sid with so much anxious hope that it’s almost painful to see.

Teenage Sid—the Sid that he’s supposed to be right now—was already living under a spotlight. Whether Sid was born risk-averse or whether the constant pressure made him that way, he doesn’t know. But Sid does know that for this version of himself, the idea of a boyfriend—a person who would expose him to the risk of discovery, a person who might even _want_ Sid to tell the world about his sexuality, might want to hold hands in public and be his date to prom—would have been utterly terrifying. Even with all that Sid would have to gain by saying yes—and Geno is so, so much to gain—Sid’s not sure that his teenage self would have had the courage to accept the good thing that was being offered to him.

But that’s okay. Because Sid’s not that kid anymore. And this can be his gift to his younger self – a dozen years too late, but necessary and beautiful all the same. Sid knows now how love and safety come out in the balance, even if he didn’t back then.

“Yes,” Sid whispers. His smile is ridiculously wide, ridiculously joyful. “Yes. Let’s be boyfriends. We’ll take care of each other.”

Geno grabs hold of Sid and pulls him into his chest with all his strength, almost enough to bruise. When he echoes, “We be boyfriends,” his voice sounds clogged up, and his chest is shaking against Sid’s front.

“Geno?” Sid asks, not sure what’s happening.

“Just happy, Sid,” Geno whispers, sounding both drained and relieved. “Just happy. Because I need. I need to ask you be boyfriends. And I do, and it’s good. We can stop pretend now.”

“Okay,” Sid agrees. He’s still not sure what that was all about, but whatever it was, it seems like it was good, and it was what Geno needed.

When they’ve stripped down and curled up under the covers, Geno tells him about a boy named Alyosha, who Geno had loved without knowing that it was love – who Geno had used, without knowing how much more he deserved. “I never ask him be boyfriends,” Geno murmurs, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. “I should, but when we grow up, where we grow up, you don’t even think of this. Is not possible. Is like… dragons, witches, kids’ story, you know. But I should know better. I should treat him better. I’m so sorry, Sid.”

Sid holds him close and tries to think of what to say – _I forgive you_ , maybe, except it’s not Sid’s place to forgive Geno for his actions toward somebody else. He thinks Geno wants him to say _I forgive you for being just like the boys who fucked me up_ , except that it sounds like Geno was a lot nicer to Alyosha than Sid’s crueler teammates had been to him – never called him names or threatened him or hurt him or made fun of him.

In the end, Sid says carefully, “I think everyone has things they would go back and change. That’s…” His chuckle sounds watery even to him. “That’s the whole point of tonight, I guess. I wanted a do-over, even if it was just pretend. And it sounds like you did, too.”

Geno nods, slow, and clasps Sid’s hand between his own a little tighter. “Yes.”

“It doesn’t mean we can forget,” Sid whispers, “but… we decide how we remember. You said that. And I think that was right.”

“Yes,” Geno agrees, looking a little less wretched. He mops up his face and blows his nose, and then sets his head on the pillow next to Sid’s.

“This was good,” Sid tells him. He’s pretty sure Geno knows, but he wants to say it anyway. “Thanks for doing it.”

“Was good for me, too,” Geno says, voice scratchy. “Good idea. Happy you ask me. Pretend to be kids is pretty different from pretend to be stripper. But still fun. And still very good.”

They could go back and sleep in their own bed, now, at home. But this bed is warm, and Geno feels so good in Sid’s arms, and anyway, Sid likes this bed. They’ve made some good memories in it. “Let’s stay,” he tells Geno, letting his eyes drift shut.

“Yes,” Geno whispers back. “We stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> All comments are loved! Just pasting a line or two that stood out to you means a lot.


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